One Year On by Joanne L. M. Williams

Cinderella stretched sleepily and disentangled her limbs from the lacy, white bedclothes of the four-poster. She lay dreamily in the bright noon sunlight and began to think about rising. Life after marriage was decidedly agreeable. Slowly sitting up she considered if there was anything to do that day; other than improve the quality of life and ensure the well being of her people, of course. She found she had taken naturally to the ruling of a princedom. It just took a little effort and, without her, the Prince had been, well, rather lax.

Then she remembered: Today she was supposed to be meeting her self-styled fairy godmother. Cinderella pursed her rosebud lips. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful to the woman for her help, but really; she acted as if she had arranged the whole marriage single-handedly. All she had really done was to make a few introductions and help out with a bit of a transport crisis. The rest had been inevitable.

The charming Frederick had been bound to marry soon. In all the land, her family alone was of sufficient standing for a marriage union with royalty. Never mind that their riches had long gone, together with servants, leaving Cinderella stuck with all the housework whilst her older sisters went out and earned a living. In a mansion redolent of more affluent times there were a lot of floors to sweep. No, never mind about the genteel poverty into which they had fallen as easily as Cinderella’s thoughts were falling into cliché; it was titles that counted. Only her family could provide a suitable bride for the prince. When faced with the three daughters, his choice had been clear. Whose wouldn’t be? One sister was merely ordinarily ugly. The other, well, her hideousness was freakish. Smiling, Cinderella carefully dressed her perfect figure, combed her perfect curls and placed his golden band on the fourth finger of a perfect hand.

~

Alice inched open the door to the dusty room where no one went now, except her. She slid through the gap, pushed the door shut behind her and crossed the carpeted floor quickly until she was a foot in front of the mirror. The silvered world held a surprise: It wasn’t Her; the strange face which had become so familiar. Instead it was a face just like Alice’s own, but coloured all wrong. “How curious!” exclaimed Alice aloud.

She closed her eyes and opened them again to see if that made any difference. It did not. Then she tried blinking several times in quick succession which made her feel rather dizzy. Very dizzy. Alice opened her eyes and felt herself tumbling, There was a sharp, rather queer sensation of something cold pouring down her back and front and sides at once and then her feet touched the ground.

Whenever Alice had seen Her in the mirror she had been in a room not entirely dissimilar from the one in which Alice had stood. Now however, she found herself quite clearly in a wood. She looked back at the blonde, pink-cheeked Alice who was definitely still indoors. Then she realised that she was currently gazing into a pool in a clearing. “Of course,” Alice said to herself, “the mirror would turn into a pool on this side. It could hardly go on being a mirror, for where would it hang? If one wants to see one’s reflection out-of-doors one must find still water to suffice instead of a looking-glass.”

She ran her fingers though her hair to ascertain its dryness, which, she felt, suggested that the pool was more a mirror than a pool, “unless,” she pondered, “I am dry because it started out as a mirror when I began. If that is the case then I shall be dreadfully wet getting back.” The rich darkness of the locks she twirled as she thought belied the colourlessness suggested by the white of the fingers they snaked around. She was astonished that she could have ever thought the mirror-world was colourless. Rich green trees stretched as far as she could see, picturesquely interspersed with red-berried bushes and clumps of primroses and bluebells. Determined to explore this unexpected landscape, Alice started to walk.

After some time she began to tire of the repetitive view and to suspect the trees of playing some trick on her and rearranging themselves so those previously behind her were now in front. She was rather relieved when a small, dumpy cottage appeared in her line of vision. She approached eagerly and the paused. “I must be careful,” she scolded herself, “that it is not made from any form of cake or sweetmeat, for such a house is inevitably far less agreeable when one is inside than out. What one desires to eat may contain something which desires to eat little girls instead.” However, having ascertained that the cottage was solid stone, Alice walked boldly up to front door and knocked.

~

The carriage came to a halt and the greys pulling it tossed their heads prettily. One snorted a little for good measure whilst the other delicately raised a hoof. A door was opened by an expensively clad footman and Cinderella eased herself out, legs first. Sunlight glinted off her dazzling slippers. A nice touch that had been, at the ball: A symbol you can wear again to remind people of your beginnings; both romantic and destined.

She looked up demurely at the cheering, middle-class crowd. This was a street she had saved and they were delighted to see her on it to open a new library. All over the little city, nay, the princedom, areas like this had been cleaned up and turned into places of culture by the social reforms of Cinderella and her charming prince. The beggars were gone, the brothels and gambling dens shut. In the most troublesome areas a curfew of midnight prevented the worst excesses.

Cinderella permitted herself to smile at the happy people: Her people. She had made their lives so much better, so much safer. She was good at this; a good ruler.

~

Alice inched open the door to the dusty room. It was a kitchen, though very dirty, and there was seemingly no one around. She slid through the gap, pushed the door shut behind her and crossed the stone flagged floor, stopping in front of the sink. She had a vague sense that the next step would be to wash up and was tentatively reaching towards the tap when a voice addressed her:

“Some people would call this breaking and entering,” said its owner, Accusingly.

“But if you’ve come to do the dishes then we’ll maybe overlook it,” said another, Moderately. Alice turned around to see two men facing her.

“I did knock,” she explained, “but no one answered so I came round the back.” Either she was growing remarkably fast today, or these men were rather short. More of the cottage’s inhabitants were moving into the kitchen now, Curiously and Excitedly. There were seven of them, which was more than Alice would have thought the cottage would comfortably house.

“Are you the housekeeper?” asked a newcomer, Hopefully. “Where have you been these past months?”

“No I’m not, But I’m not really sure who I am. I seem to have lost myself as well as my way. I started in a completely different land but I wouldn’t know how to get back.” Now she must be growing at an alarming rate for the men were very short indeed: Positively dwarfish in fact.

“We like descriptive names ourselves,” said the first again. Helps you know who you are. Now, you – you’re very pale. As white as clean laundry.”

“Or snow,” suggested Moderately. “That would sound better. If you’re lost you can stay with us. We’re all exiles too.”

“Exiles! How terrible for you. What happened?”

“Social reform,” said another dwarf, Grimly. “We were the undesirables. According to her Highness Cinderella we made the neighbourhood untidy, all because we don’t fit into her boxes. Metaphorically,” he added, catching the look on the girls’ face.

“You mean you were told just to go?” said Snow-White-Alice horrified.

“Well there was the option of the rehabilitation schools,” replied Accusingly. “If you show progress there you’re allowed to stay. Grimly’s right, it would have been Albatrosses Anonymous for us. Let’s just say we jumped before we were pushed.

“Here in the woods we’re outside her control,” said Moderately. “You can stay with us until either you or we are able to go back home.”

~

One afternoon, one year on, the beginnings of a squabble between the dwarves persuaded Snow White that she would like to take a walk though the woods. It was a gloomy afternoon with a certain dark beauty. She was just thinking that she ought to be heading back in order to be in time for tea, and wondering which way was, in fact, back, when she heard a rattling noise approaching.

The noise grew louder and a small carriage, pulled by two black stallions, drew into view, stopping alongside her. The door opened but no one alighted. Curiously, Snow White walked right up to the door. Suddenly she felt herself whisked up the steps and deposited on a red velvet seat. Her head brushed the ceiling. Sitting opposite her was a veiled lady. On top of her veil perched a small, jeweled crown.

“Are you,” she began querulously. “Are you the queen who has reformed the state so that unskilled laborers are not welcome?” She knew that her friends had recently joined some kind of group working against the ruler. “Have you come for the dwarves?”

“Oh no, you have the wrong regent there, dear one. It is you I’ve been looking for.”

“Why me?” cried Snow White in a panic.

“Calm down, do. This is why.” She lifted the veil dramatically. Gazing back at Snow White was Alice’s face, older but still with the same features. “Now look at yourself,” commanded the queen, passing Snow White a small hand mirror.

“A mirror!” gasped Snow White. But I thought there weren’t any on this side of...” She stopped, confused. “I thought they were pools. She had to admit this sounded queer even to her.

“No, you’ve just been living in a house full of men. Now take a look at yourself.” Snow White looked and opened her eyes wide in recognition. It was Her looking back; the Red Queen. Suddenly she was acutely aware of her head brushing the roof of the carriage and of the much smaller queen sitting opposite her.

“It’s the Mirror doing it,” said the queen, “not this mirror but the Mirror; my Mirror. A year ago I looked into it and instead of myself I saw Snow White. Bit by bit, I have become the reflection, which is you and you have become yours, which is I.” She sighed. “It can make you beautiful, a mirror like this, but there is always a cost. I wouldn’t be surprised if your reforming princess had one. It is unusual for there to be a single stunning beauty like Cinderella in a family not ever renowned for its looks. Her poor sister is green with envy.

Now I have found you there’s but one thing to do.” She reached into the recesses of her gown and pulled out a fruit, both ruby red and pale green. “Have an apple, Alice,” she offered, holding it out.

“Is it poisoned?” asked Snow White cautiously. “If one eats something poisonous it is likely to disagree with one.”

“No, and neither will it cause the Fall of humanity. But it’s a nice symbol, don’t you think?” The girl took the apple, its top dimpled, heart-fashion. She bit into the deep red of its skin to the white flesh, chewed and swallowed. There was a feeling of being squeezed tight and, all of a sudden, the carriage was somewhat roomier. She looked up into a knowing, high cheek-boned face. A regal face. The queen was holding the little mirror up again and in it the girl saw herself reflected; blonde, wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked. “Now off you go home,” said the Red Queen, opening the carriage door. Just don’t go looking in the Mirror again. Other mirrors you may gaze in to your vanity’s content, just not that one.”

“Home? How do I get there?”

“I suggest you try the rabbit hole behind that tree stump there.”

~

On their first wedding anniversary, Cinderella and Prince Charming decided a grand public appearance was necessary. There was trouble in the princedom, much to the princess’ dismay. Her beautiful reform system, at first so popular, had now become the focus of resentment and loathing. Factions were forming against her and there was talk of forcing a divorce. She simply didn’t understand: She had done so much for the people; made their world so safe and pretty and ordered. Why did they turn on her now and call her unkind names? Surely she was far too beautiful to be considered a witch?

Cinderella dressed carefully: A demure dress to indicate her seriousness and responsibility, her dedication to the state; but accessorized with her silver slippers. The slippers were everything: talisman to herself and symbol to the world; the cause of her marriage and source of her power. Silently, Cinderella thanked her fairy godmother. She had promised to meet her publicly today, in the hope that through her own popularity she might help start the revival of her goddaughter’s.

It had been decided that walking from the palace to the town square, instead of taking the carriage, would create a better impression; suggest oneness with the people. However, a year of excessively luxurious living and door-to-door carriages had taken its toll and after covering the short distance, in the admittedly none-too-practical shoes, the princess was tired from the exertion, her feet bright red and sore. A muttering and whispering began and as the crowds warmed up they began to jeer. This was not going according to plan. Anxiously, Cinderella looked around for her godmother. Not spotting her she gazed in despair at the crowd. And then a house fell on her.

~

When Glinda arrived a few minutes later she surveyed the scene with private dismay. She wasn’t proving very good at this fairy-godmothering business. The shoes had been a good gift: They had real power, but Cinderella had gone about using them in entirely the wrong fashion. Glinda had tried to advise, but after the wedding Cinderella hadn’t wanted to listen anymore. She had been an exceptionally ungrateful goddaughter and Glinda wondered if she had made the right choice in her. Perhaps, after all, she would have had more success with the green sister.

One Year On by Joanne L. M. Williams was read by Suzanne Goldberg at the Liars' League Rebels & Tyrants event at The Wheatsheaf on Tuesday 14 July 2009

Joanne decided she wanted to be a writer at age ten and has been writing stories and poetry ever since. A year ago she gave up her job in theatre management to allow her to complete her first novel. She lives in London, dividing her time between writing and theatre.

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